Knockin' 'em down

OK, I didn't get anything graded for the short story class, but I still feel like it was a productive day. I decided I couldn't stand having the left-over bits from the 102s tangling around my ankles any more, so I put them on top of the triage stack. It ended up being a wise choice, as I was very much in Professor-as-Mommy mode all day, and I wouldn't have had large enough chunks of uninterrupted time to focus on longer papers--but it was easy to flip through old homework in the interstices between bouts of student hand-holding.

Poor Dear Thing showed up at 11, and I worked with her for an hour, but at the end, she felt infinitely more confident about her ability to read and about her revision of her paper. She didn't show up to class today, however; I hope the novel didn't scare her off, after all that. Still, it felt very good to work with her. I told her she'd made my day--and she, along with two other students, did. Of course my ego was gratified because she recognized the gift I was giving: my time, my help, my support and encouragement. She was very complimentary, which is always nice, but more, I could see in her face and hear in her voice that she is learning, actually learning. God damn, that's great to observe.

She left, and not long after, another student showed up: very bright young woman whose writing sucks out loud--and yet she's always been told how good it is. She writes effusive and highly embroidered sentences that contain no clear, concise thought--and I've told her it's my mission in life this semester to beat that out of her, to get her to present her analyses precisely and logically. I know she has it in her, but she's going to have to let go of something she's been proud of, believing it to be exquisite, and instead don the straight-jacket of academic analysis and argument. I hope I got the message across; I'll know when I see her next revision. (On the final version of her first paper, I found myself writing, "Oh, for God's sake!" over some burbling bit of garble. Enough with the Valentines and lace, dammit, give me a heart made of meat on the plate.)

As I was working with Ms. Embroidery, yet another student showed up--and I had an experience with her very similar to the experience with Poor Dear Thing. She was one of two students I mentioned earlier in the semester who were bitching about the work, and she's the one who was grudgingly acknowledging that I had a point when I said that gutting through frustration was a vital life skill to learn. Her compadre has dropped off the radar--apparently still complaining while not doing the work--but this young woman has turned around her attitude and is putting in the effort. Not to my surprise, but somewhat to hers, it's paying off. She specifically said that she decided to try out my advice about gutting through frustration--and she was beaming with the results. Yes, Ma'am. She may get her work from the D's she was earning at the start of the term up to B's; she's certainly capable of it.

In the first class most of the students were doing well, but by unfortunate chance, one group was made up of three young women who were completely baffled by the first chapter of the novel--and two of them decided that the best way to handle that was not to listen to the class discussion and to mutter-murmur when the rest of us were talking. I may have to pull them aside and suggest that they pay attention, for fuck's sake, especially as they're confused. I'm not sure what to do about those three, but I will try not to put them in a group together again. However, Ms. Embroidery, Ms. Changed Attitude, and a third young woman were in a group together today, and they were sailing. I may let them continue to work together as often as possible (maybe with the addition of a fourth young woman who is also pretty danged smart), following Paul's philosophy that the good students deserve a good experience, not to be tortured by being put in groups with the attitudinous.

By the way, in our individual meeting Ms. Changed Attitude informed me that the novel "wasn't so bad." Apparently she resisted it like mad, didn't even want to open the wretched thing, but once she started, she got very interested. A student in the later class said essentially the same thing. (Hah! says I.)

The later class was, as always, a step above. The students wanted to work in a circle (we'll probably stick with that for the rest of the term, as they like it and do well with that format)--and we got into some subtleties about the text that the first class didn't get close to. One young man, who registered late and has been doing sub-par work since, clearly understands the novel beautifully, is picking up on details and their significance.(Interestingly, he's the one who said he hated the novel at first but now thinks it isn't so bad.) Nice. I just hope his writing steps up a notch or three. He has A potential--but he's not this semester's Wonder Boy because to date he's been half-hearted at best. If he kicks into gear, he could give Wonder Boy a run for the money.

I think I mentioned my decision to refrain from imposing the penalties on their first papers, as a one-time-only "Get Out of Jail Free" card. I returned the papers today; the red pen showing what the penalties would have been was left in place, but I circled in blue the grade from which the deductions were taken and recorded that. The sighs of relief probably will affect the strength of Hurricane Sandy. I did emphasize that next time, the axe will fall--but they were so grateful to get the reprieve, I think it will motivate them to keep going. I hope so anyway.

On the committee front, I've corralled some P&B business: I've determined when I will do the three observations I'm responsible for (two new adjuncts and one full-time faculty member who is under dire warning for being utterly stupid about his job). I'll read the two tenure promo folders on Monday. I have the stuff for the short story class in my bag to bring home, and I feel confident I can get through it all without having a hellish weekend--and certainly without it hanging like the sword of Damocles over me for my natal anniversary. Which--even though it is tomorrow--I intend to start celebrating in five, four, three....

A little less gnashing of teeth

I got all the first papers for the 102s finished. Jesus, what a load off. I still have the Short Story papers, and a stack of random detritus from the 102s. Part of me wants to clear the clutter and get the stupid 102 stuff marked and gone, return it all tomorrow, before I collect more (yeesh), but on the other hand, it's more important that I get the Short Story papers completely finished before Monday's class, so I probably should oughta put those on top of the "about to spontaneously combust" pile.

One thing that's been feeling good is that I'm finding takers for the observations of new adjuncts. There are six of them, and the prospect of having to observe all of them myself was painful. However, former members of P&B are coming through, and I think I can unload all but two--and two won't be painful. In fact, one of them I actively want to observe, as I'm the one who hired her (last minute). I want to see if I made a good choice.

Another load that has been lifted is that I don't have to look at sabbatical applications again for a bit. I never got through the first load; I was on a tear, and fully intended to be good this semester and look at every blessed one--but then appendicitis struck, and when I got back, we gathered the comments for our various mentees and are now moving on to promotion applications. And this year, blessings be, there are only two people going up for assistant/tenure, so that's all I have to do for next week. (That will be a Monday afternoon job for sure.) So the P&B load is lightening up a bit right now, too.

And the paper-grading load is getting progressively lighter. I e-mailed one student who seems to have disappeared to see if he's coming back; if he isn't, I"m not grading his paper. I was about to send the same e-mail to another student when I got a message from him saying he has to withdraw. Whew. I'm sure I've graded some papers for students in the 102s who are gone; they often are done in by the poetry paper, finding it just that much more difficult than the story paper. I'm still in double digits in all my classes--but not by much, in the 102s. And the fat lady has yet to begin warming up.

The China Doll withdrew today (saw that coming). Another student who disappeared weeks ago e-mailed to say he needs to withdraw (good idea). Another showed up at the office yesterday, wondering what he could do about the fact that he didn't turn either of the first two papers in 102 (um, withdraw or fail seem to be the only options; which would you prefer?). Yet one more showed up at the end of the first 102 with her withdrawal slip. I'm starting to feel like Annie Oakley in a shooting gallery: ting, ting, ting, hitting those Withdrawals. But as I said, I'm rather hoping it levels off now. I like the balance and the numbers as they are right this minute, and I'd very much like to end the semester pretty much with the students I have right now.

Because I didn't hold my office hour on Monday, I held a make-up session today, and lo and behold, a student from the earlier 102 showed up--one of only two young men left in that class. He's not sullen, not slack-jawed and dim, but in his charming and perky way, he still seems to answer all my questions with "I don't know." Well, think, dammit. I honestly can't tell whether he doesn't have the chops to do the work or if he's just dealing with deeply ingrained acquired helplessness, but if he doesn't start getting some ideas, and damned soon, he's going to be toast very shortly. And I don't want to lose him--mostly because he is charming and perky, and in that earlier 102, we need that kind of energy.

Tomorrow, Poor Dear Thing (the complainer I complained about in yesterday's post) will meet with me at 11:30. She's very happy to have an appointment with me--and I hope it helps. I'm not sure how much I can do for her, but I'll try. Then I rather expect I'll have a parade of students coming to my office hour--possibly from the comps and the lit class. I just hope I get enough time in between to churn through some of those papers....

Nothing else of import to note today. I'm a little worried about the fact that I don't feel so frantic today; surely I'm forgetting something, or am thinking something is more close to complete than it is, or something. But quien sabe? Either I'm really OK, or something will hit me in the face like a flying asian carp.

Grind, grind, grind

In both 102 classes, I gave the "this is when the weak are separated from the strong" thing. We'll see whether that has any effect.

I managed--barely--to have the papers ready for the work they were doing in class today. Two students sent papers via e-mail over the weekend, and I got the print versions too late to have them ready before class; I've promised to have those two ready to be picked up tomorrow. However, students who missed last class, didn't contact me, and simply showed up today with their first versions are on their own.

I've been frustrated as hell, but really, in some ways they are learning. What I saw in class today was evidence that sometimes they simply need to swan-dive into the pavement a few times before they learn that something they've always done is not a good idea. In both classes, I said, "If something didn't work the first time, it's sure not going to work the third: Try Something Else."A number of them specifically addressed that, asking me what they should do instead of what they've been doing. That's a hopeful sign.

I still have a bunch of the first papers to finish, which I must do tomorrow. This seems feasible. Then papers for the Short Story class. Then miscellaneous flotsam (idea logs and so on from ages past). Committee work. After class today was all about putting the stack of shit I have to do in priority order. Never mind the stuff on the back burner.

I think I was fretting in an earlier post about this semester's Wonder Boy, who suddenly dropped off the radar last week, didn't turn in a first version of his paper. He showed up today--and told me that his life just took a bad turn, and he's been fucking up: as only one instance, he went out last night instead of working on his paper. He did give me a bit of a sob story (grandfather died, girl broke up with him), but mostly he admitted that he allowed himself to become completely irresponsible--and he asked what he could do to get back on track. I gave him two options: One, he can do his best to do all the parts of this second paper with no feedback from me, know he'll take a hit to his final grade but have the work done and out of his hair and be able to move on. Two, IF he does everything else beautifully for the rest of the semester--not even the tiniest screw-up--I'll give him an incomplete and we can do the paper 2 process, all the steps, together next semester. I did warn him about the perils of that option, but of course he'd prefer it: he's bucking for an A, and he doesn't want the hit to his final grade. I told him that even if he goes with the incomplete, there's no guarantee he'll get the A (and honestly, much as I appreciate his smarts and his enthusiasm, I'm not so sure he's got an A in him at the moment), but having the shot seems very important to him, despite the very real risks. I told him to think it over and let me know next week what he wants to do. I bet he goes for the incomplete--but mostly, I just want him to stick in the class; I don't want to lose him.

In fact, I don't want to lose anyone else from either class, especially not the later one. In each class, there is one student whose effect is neutral: it doesn't help to have him there, but it doesn't hurt (and yes, both are young men). In the later class, everyone else is an absolute benefit--even one poor dear thing who is so utterly confused she's about to fall apart. She tends to want to monopolize my time, mostly to tell me how hard everything is and how stupid she feels; I'm trying to get her to turn her energy to something productive  instead of spending her time wandering around in a morass of fuss and feathers. She is, in fact, in serious trouble. Not only is writing tremendously difficult for her, she has serious problems with reading. As an example: she found the phrase "instill pride" in one of the critical essays and used it continually as a noun phrase in her paper, as in "The poems show instill pride." I mean, where do I begin? I gave her all the warm fuzzies: you're not stupid, this just isn't where your brain works best; we just need to find the tools that will help you; yes this is hard, and it hurts, but you're learning--all that bilge. OK, it isn't bilge; there is actually some truth there, but whether she's capable of getting where she needs to get in the nine remaining weeks of the semester--especially when we're about to embark on Left Hand of Darkness? Mmmmm, maybe not so much. Still, she's working and trying and refusing to quit, and I give her credit for that.

OK, so what note do I want to sound for the end of the day? Picking up on the fact that--despite all the things that remain unchanged in their work--they are learning, I need to remind myself, and them, that the wheels of learning simply grind exceeding slow, and we all get pulped in the process. I did make an executive decision to mark all the penalties for their finished first papers--the kinds of stupid errors that knock a C- paper to below an F--but then grant them mercy: I'm going to let them have the grades they'd have made without the penalties. But just once. For the second paper, the full weight of the penalties will crash down upon them. I think seeing the dreadful fate they narrowly escaped may help get them to button up. I'm hoping, anyway.

Hope. I want to keep it present, for them and for me. It's such a lovely and potentially fragile thing, and so important to perseverance. If I can keep hope wafting through the classrooms for another nine weeks, we'll all benefit.

Again from home

I left Advisement early today to get the all-clear from the surgeon (yep; all clear) and after took myself out for somewhat celebratory late lunch/early dinner; then I came back here to crank through some more papers. I got a bunch marked in general during today's brief stint in Advisement; at home, I typed up the comments for those papers (five of them, I think). I still have more to do tomorrow than I'd like--and I haven't finished all the final versions of first papers yet (fuck). The main goal is to be ready with the first versions of second papers for tomorrow's classes--which probably means an extra early alarm tomorrow. (This is not a particular problem: I can't go dancing yet anyway, so it won't much matter if I'm whipped at the end of the day.) Several students were to have left papers for me on my office door today (and dammit, I forgot to put up a notice that I had to cancel my office hour; shit). I think I'll get three; that means I'll have seven papers to do tomorrow. I still have a bunch of big papers from the Short Story class to get through as well. We do have a department meeting, but I think I'll blow that off--anything to get through this work as expeditiously as possible.

I wish I could continue to blow off P&B business, too, but that's going to bite me in the ass pretty soon here. (Again, fuck.)

But today's class went well. A snippy student came in to withdraw; I said, "I can't persuade you to stay?" and she said, "Not with C's." I signed the withdrawal form--and then saw that her last idea log got a B. I considered rubbing her nose in that: "If you'd only had the guts to stick it out, you'd have seen that you were learning and your grades improving...." Nah. She ain't worth it. Seems like we're down to about 16-17 students in the class--possibly more, but that's all that were there today--and they're a good group. Lively discussions, positive outlook, learning well.

Funny, when I logged in to write this post tonight, I thought I had a lot to say. Turns out I don't, it's all just going through the meat-grinder that is the middle of the semester. I am trying very hard to stay out of the grinder myself (I wonder how long I can milk the "I had my appendix removed" excuse?), but my students are in it big time. Now we begin to separate the strong from the weak, the mature from the babies. I'll tell them that; it might be a challenge to the ones who are wavering, make them want to stay.

Ech. More tomorrow.

Arrrrggggh!!!

And no, I don't title this post that way because it's "Talk Like a Pirate Day." I've been trying to grade papers, and it's been trying indeed. Sweet Jaysus but they're bad. Sucky awful bad.

The student mantra seems to be, "If I keep writing the same way, eventually the teacher will see how brilliant it is." Au contraire. I want to scream at them TRY SOMETHING ELSE! I don't much care what, just something different. Write a way you haven't written before, because you keep doing the same thing over and over, even when I tell you it's fucking wrong.

I know. I know. The logical, compassionate part of my brain reminds the impatient, cranky part that they are having to let go of a very tenuous security they have writing as they have done in the past--because it's all they know. Even when it never got them good results before, it's what they know. And I'm asking them to throw it all entirely out the window and try something not only very new but rather difficult. Every molecule in their bodies is screaming in protest. Ed said I have to break them down, and I do--but as I'm dealing out the grades that I honestly think their work deserves, I start to hate myself for the pain they're experiencing. I know, on a beautiful theoretical level, that it is up to them how they incorporate the experience: they can see it as just pain or they can see it as the ache and stretch of a challenge. But their little selves are so deeply tied up in how their work is evaluated, and they don't have the maturity yet to take the "ouch," take a deep breath, and then say, "OK, what do I have to do?"

So sure, I can feel terrible that they are experiencing my feedback as severe pain, pain with no reward--or I can simply be the dealer in harsh realities and let them grow up or not, as they choose.

But of course, it isn't so simple. I do not like hurting them; I want to help them. But I don't have time to do it slowly and gently. And I don't want them to leave me completely unprepared for where they may go next. Even focusing on the process is brutal--because they do not get the process at all, either. Not the process, not the end result.

And I sit here, having to read their turgid platitudes or their ham-fisted statements of the obvious and try to explain to them why what they have produced is not analysis, not critical thinking. Fuck me blind.

They're dropping like flies, too. The most worrisome is that this semester's Wonder Boy was not in class on Thursday, and I haven't heard a peep from him since about submitting his paper. I'm about to e-mail him and find out what's going on. I'd hate for him to get anything less than at least a B, but if he punts this paper, he can't get there.

Plus I'm tired. Not quite enough sleep last night, and although I feel pretty much fit as a fiddle (however fit that may be), I am still recovering from surgery, so my energy ain't what it might be. Gawd, Gawd. Well, speaking of taking a deep breath and saying "OK, what do I have to do?" that's where I am at the moment. And since I'm (unusually) not only posting from home but posting over the weekend, the answer is, stop working, feed the cats, and get some rest. For tomorrow is another day.

Unproofed, unedited, unread, raw from the brain, up goes the post.

From home

Even though I'm home all this week, recovering from an appendectomy, I'm still grading papers--and of course still fretting about classes and my students. It was amazingly hard to decide not to go in at all this week; I've had to pry my little bulldog teeth out of my schedules and let go of the arrogance that says I'm the only one who can get the students through the byzantine process of revision I've set up. In fact, I've got a perfectly lovely sub set up for the comp classes tomorrow, and the Short Story students are no doubt enjoying a holiday from reading for my class. I decided to have the Short Story students pause where they are until I'm back next week; I'll rework the schedule, cutting some stories out (thinking carefully about what to ditch--but that can be sort of fun). When I return, we'll discuss the stories they've already read and then move on. I'm also going to have to push all the paper due dates back a bit--we'll see how much I can juggle without running into problems with the final papers.

My schedules are always pretty tight, so the concern about time between papers is always somewhat problematic--but I'm also realizing that all the due dates, even the adjusted ones, are right on top of me. The semester seems interminable, until I have to juggle dates, or take a good look at how much work there is to do before it's all over; then it seems like there is no time at all.

I decided to jump onto the blog tonight because I've just been reading a paper that I'm damned sure is plagiarized in some way, but I can't prove it. In a weird way I'm glad I can't: the kid is an ex-Marine, and I'd hate to have due cause to nail him for cheating. My guess is that he has a girlfriend who is good at English, but since I can't prove it, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. If he really did cheat, I choose to believe (Pollyanna that I am) that his cheating ways will eventually bite him in the ass. If he didn't, well, as the Aussies would say, good on him. I'm not going to drive myself crazy about it; let him have the grade, deserved or not.

But hitting the potential plagiarism meant hitting that wall: I can't face any more grading tonight. As it is, I'm going to have a hell of a weekend ahead of me: the 102 students are turning in first versions of their second essays to the sub tomorrow, and providing comments on those is the part of the process that requires most time from me. So the more grading of other bits I can get out of my hair tomorrow, the better. Mostly, the plan is to have the decks largely clear so I can enjoy my birthday weekend next week and not have steaming piles of student work hanging over my head. Bad enough that I'll still be recovering from the surgery (though I expect to be largely back to normal by then). No way in hell am I giving up my birthday weekend to students. As I think I've said in posts past.

And now, back to my scheduled loafing about in sloppy clothes.

Is it December yet?

Well, I didn't get any papers marked today, but I did read half the sabbatical applications--and met with two frustrated students from the Short Story class. I started the day with an interesting meeting of an ad-hoc committee; I won't say much about it here (shhhh, the possibility of spies from administration monitoring what I do on this computer), but I did volunteer for one small task. Small, really (I hasten to add, hearing a groan of disappointment from the crowd: she missed the punt!)--and I volunteered largely because my friend Kristin has done 99.9% of the work for the committee so far, and I could tell she was about to take this other piece on, too. I'm not sure this task goes on the triage list, but it's probably one of those "I can't be in student minds any longer without going bonkers, but I need to keep working for a while" bits.

It's a good thing I was feeling good about accomplishments when I went to class, as I ended up having a mini-rant at the earlier 102 class. No one wanted to volunteer an answer from today's homework, and someone said they all were scared of me--and then one of the students who had been bitching about grades on Tuesday started up again with the "we see our grades and get discouraged" thing. OK, if you hit my "launch" buttons enough times, eventually I will indeed take off, though as my rants go, this one was pretty low-octane. I snagged one of Paul's lines--giving him due credit, of course. He differentiates between "bad" pain and "good" pain, as in the difference between a sports injury and the sore muscles of having played hard. This, he says--and I echoed--is good pain. The one who'd been bitching didn't say anything, but I did see her body language saying "Well, yeah, if you put it that way, you have a point."

In that class, I was truly appalled that several of the students didn't know who were on the opposing sides of the Revolutionary War. I said, "That's like not knowing who the first president of the United States is," and a student--in all seriousness--said, "Abraham Lincoln, right?" I stared, mouth agape. Another, seeing that that was obviously the wrong answer said--also in complete seriousness, "Benjamin Franklin?" I just put my head down on the desk for a minute. They all laughed--and I was playing the moment for comedy, but I genuinely am utterly aghast. I said something about it, and the girl who had suggested Franklin said that history was her worst subject in high school. I said, "This isn't about school; this is about just being a person in the world! How can you live to be your age and not know this, no matter what you studied?" She just laughed, but, well, words fail me. I mean, I sort of know this is true, but when it slaps me in the face like a rotten flounder, it's a different matter. It was a relief to get to the second class and have the Bright Boy of this semester not only know his history but automatically get bits of the poems that I usually have to draw out of students like impacted wisdom teeth.

In both classes we galloped through the day's poetry a bit too fast, but they were getting it--and in both classes, students who have never before responded to readings had things to say. And some who've talked up before but seemed a bit dim actually had very smart things to say. Excessively cool. Along those lines, the second class has developed a fondness for sitting in a circle instead of working in groups; I'd be concerned about the tendency of some students to retreat into silence when they're not in small peer groups--except that most of them are not, in fact, retreating into silence. They're talking, and responding directly to each other.

Two favorite moments, both from the later class: A) Two young men started to talk at once and then had a brief "After you, my dear Alphonse" back-and-forth yielding of the floor--until one of them said, "No, you go ahead, Bro." The other students responded with gentle laughter and smiles, acknowledging the warm familiarity. B) A student was fussing around with papers when I was getting ready to move on. I was waiting for her, and she said, without looking up, "Don't wait for me; pass out a handout or something." I laughed hard, as did the rest of the class. Prof. TLP, the Queen of Handouts. As I was laughing, I said, "That was brilliant!" She looked up and said, "Did you just call me brilliant?? I'm writing this down!" They're fun.

In that later class, a student showed up today who I thought for sure was gone for good. He told me his "sob story"--his words, not mine--and it does sound like it's been a rough time, but mostly he accepted that he is seriously behind the curve and will not be able to make the kind of grade he could/should have. In fact, after class I ended up talking with him and three other young men, all of whom are behind the curve, for any number of reasons. One also told his sob story (my words, not his), about how he had to go to court and hadn't even been sure he'd be allowed to go home (as opposed to being incarcerated, one assumes)--and apparently he's still not certain whether he's going to end up in jail or not. I told him about the possibilities for an administrative withdrawal and how to go about looking into that; we'll see what happens. Another of them is quite bright, but he's barely waving at most of the work--and he registered at the last possible moment, so he missed the entire first week. Well, he'll either pull up his socks or he won't. True for all of them. I've pointed out that their socks are falling down; the rest is up to them.

But shifting back to the students from Short Story who came to the office today: I think I mentioned the one who is clearly developmentally disabled, and it was extremely difficult to get him to understand that summary is not an argument, and that adding quotations does not create an argument if there isn't one. He said the right words when he left, but whether he understands the concepts behind those words is anyone's guess. I suppose I'll see when I get his next papers.

The other student had talked to me after the very first class, telling me that he always did badly in his English classes. He was submitting his paper late and wanted to talk to me about it--and I told him that just by glancing at the first paragraph, I could see he was doing all the things I've expressly said not to do, and conversely that he was not doing what is required. He dropped his head--a common reaction to being told that one's work is not cutting it. At first he looked up from time to time, but his head was hanging lower and lower, and the glances up stopped altogether, so I finally said, "What is it?" He whispered, "I'm frustrated." Oh, sweetie. I could see he was fighting tears, so I spent the next ten minutes giving him a pep talk: that gutting through frustration is the mark of the best students; that he's doing the right things by seeing me and working it through; that I'm making him write and think in ways that are completely new, and it's hard to let go of old habits; that it's early days yet--and he can revise. He said that he does want to learn and wants to do whatever professors say, but he also wants good grades, and the two are often in conflict. Yes, indeed. If one wants to learn, being concerned about the grade can get in the way. I ended by telling him that I refuse to lose him; he is going to make it through the semester, and he's going to see his grades go up. His first response was doubtful, so I made him restate it with more conviction. He left, saying he would do his best. That's all that can be asked of anyone.

Now I have a bag full of papers to take home over the weekend. I almost decided to take more with me, but I realize that would be evidence of delusion: it's highly unlikely I'll get through what I've already put in the bag. I'm just concerned to get the decks as clear as I can before Thursday's onslaught--and I'd prefer not to spend Tuesday on campus, grading. I'm willing to do some at home, but as long as the presidential debates are going to force me not to teach and fuck with my schedule of assignments, I'd prefer to treat Tuesday as a bonus gift of a day "off." Sleep late, leisurely breakfast, mark some papers--and go to dance class with no stress or worry about the work....

I just looked up and was reminded of the seasonal change: it's full dark out, and has been for a while. I sometimes complain about the short days, but right at the moment, it feels rather cozy, to be in my lamp-lit office (no overhead fluorescent lights for this woman) against the dark and nip of an autumn night.